


Can't

by IuvenesCor



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Angst, Gen, Tag, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts come and go surprisingly fast when lives are on the line.</p><p>Tag to Chapter Nine: The Middle Way of Uncharted 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't

**Author's Note:**

> Since recently, I've discovered and fallen in love with Uncharted-- and I've been cranking out fic as often as possible.
> 
> When I got to this scene in a walkthrough, I immediately had to write, even if it was just to put the visuals into words. Being a big fan of introspective and angst, I wrote this both for the sake of me and for a friend (in order to convince her to look into the series.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

You close your hands as tight as you can.

Drake gasps urgently, begging you to stop, but you won’t give in. You won’t let him force you into that suffocating little crack in the wall; you won’t let him corner you. You’ve been told not to trust him, and you don’t. Honestly, you don’t trust anything but yourself— and certainly not that insufferable voice you keep hearing— but between the blurring and the glaring light and the whispers and the madness… you aren’t even sure you can trust yourself anymore. He kept trying to trick you into giving up under the guise of friendship, but thrown punches aren’t a strong selling point. He can’t tell you what to do— no one can. All you need to do is get away from them; away from this godforsaken room, away from these ever-closer walls, away from this mess of confusion that you’ve been thrown into. So you squeeze, waiting for him to stop resisting.

You _**can’t**_ let them control you.

~ ~ ~

You wrap your finger around the trigger.

Chloe protests in horror, but you ignore her; you won’t take any chances. Yes, Cutter is your friend too— you don’t want to do this any more than Chloe does. But you know the consequences if something isn’t done. The man’s mentally unstable; what if he wasn’t satisfied with finishing off Nate and decided to go for you both? It’s a choice that just has to be made. The simple question— Charlie or Nate— has a simple answer. Cutter is a friend; Nate is a son. And there isn’t a chance in hell that you’ll let the kid die; you won’t let Marlowe get him after you’ve protected him, even raised him, since the beginning.

You _**can’t**_ let her have her way.

~ ~ ~

You force Charlie to look at you.

 _If this doesn’t work…_ You keep yourself from thinking of either outcome. It _has_ to work. Damn Talbot for what he did. You know that Nate is suffering, but Charlie is too. The story’s told in the angry tears forming in his eyes, the broken expression, the quaking in his arms from rage and fear; every little thing tells you that he can’t cope with whatever is happening in his mind for much longer, that something has to be done. But the one thing you won’t have done is Sully’s plan. You’ve told the old man to wait, but you know that he’s two seconds away from aerating Charlie’s brain. You have to break through to Charlie _now_ — no exceptions. You won’t allow him to do anything he might never live to regret. You won’t let him kill Nate.

You _**can’t**_ lose either of them.

~ ~ ~

You struggle for air, strength, and time.

Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed Charlie so hard— God only knows what that dart from Talbot did to him. But as much as you want to sympathize, you’re a little too frantic to care right now. Your skull is pounding, ears are ringing, lungs are screaming. You’ve been near death so many times before, but it still scares you. Everything is fading, including your concentration. Sully and Chloe are here, but that’s about all you know. Charlie’s grip isn’t letting up, and you have to wonder if maybe this is the last time that you’ll cheat an already well-evaded Death. Still, you’re too stubborn to ever stop fighting back. With every last ounce of energy, you strain for the breaths that you’re determined to keep from being your last. And you look at the odds, how many times you’ve soldiered through. You’re Nathan Drake, adventurer extraordinaire, dammit— you _**can’t**_ die. 

…and yet, you know you _**can**_.

But you don’t want to.

Not yet.

_fin._


End file.
